


When Need Is Greatest

by monochrome_dragons



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic, Arthur Pendragon Returns, Hesitant Merlin, Immortal Merlin, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed, Modern Era, Waiting for Arthur Pendragon, modern merlin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-08 14:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17387801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monochrome_dragons/pseuds/monochrome_dragons
Summary: Merlin is all that's left of Avalon. After watching loved ones die, and kingdoms fall, none of it equated to the pain he felt when Arthur died.But maybe Arthur won't be gone forever. After all: When Albion's need is greatest, King Arthur will rise again... if not in the way Merlin expected.





	1. One

"I need you." A raspy sob echoed the dark room.

The words cut deep in his throat, shaking him to his very soul, and he couldn't remember ever speaking such truths. It was true of course. Isn't it what he had been told by the Great Dragon? That Arthur would rise again when Albion's need was greatest? Well Merlin was now all that was left of their world, and damnit he needed some normality in his life; something that felt real and didn't feel so void like he was constantly searching for something. Even magic wasn't believed in anymore, and Merlin had long since admitted that he would much prefer to live in fear of being caught because of his sorcery, than everything he is not even be real in the mind's of everybody around him.

Merlin had no fear of anybody hearing him. After all, he had lived alone for a thousand years, or more. He was reminded of Kilgharrah in moments like that. He too had seen civilisations rise and fall, die and survive. He wished more than ever that Arthur could have witnessed that with him, but alas, he was alone. Always so alone.

See, that was something people always glazed over when they wished for immortality. You witness your family and friends die. Your home disappear. The world moving on without you, while you're left behind in the past and the dust, with nowhere else to go, because that's all you've ever known. Merlin had long since gotten used to the perks of his slightly-magical lifespan, but the disadvantages haunted him like all the ghosts of Albion. They would never go away, and he knew that, but it was still soul shattering.

He had aged. But that was a bittersweet experience in itself. He aged normally, along makeshift friends he never allowed himself to get too close to. Then one day, without warning, he would wake up, and a look in the mirror had told him that he had reset. He would go right back to being the young, impressionable boy that had travelled to Camelot all those hundreds of years ago. He had a routine though. It hadn't taken him long to figure out some sort of pattern, and when he was due to reset, Merlin would begin to pack. He would apply for a college a long distance away from where he had settled, and start over again. His reset had happened the previous night, though caught him quite off guard. It was early. His application for his next college had gone through, and been accepted, and his things were all packed. He never took furniture with him, and sold his many trinkets he had gathered in this life, then packed the things he wanted to keep with him, and moved on. It was currently two o' clock in the morning and within the next six hours he would be on the road, and those who knew him here would never hear from him again.

In actual fact, Merlin reminded himself, this time should have been cause for celebration. See, there was one place he always went back to. Every three resets (which even he admitted could be quite risky), he went straight back to Albion. Of course, it wasn't Albion anymore, but it was where it had been. In fact, over the area that the castle of Camelot had been was a few flats. Merlin had never had difficulty renting one out, and it often felt like more of a home than anywhere else ever did. If Arthur was ever going to rise, he would likely stay near there, his destiny pulling him to that particular spot. He should have been happy, he knew that, but it was so difficult. How was he expected to be happy about going back when he had already hit a spot of depression because Arthur wasn't there? He set his hopes too high every single time, and even sternly telling himself 'Arthur isn't there yet' had so far never been enough to actually convince him or prepare him for that fact. Every single time, he had gone back and his hopes had been crushed as he realised once again the weight of what it meant to be alone.

"I need you." He cried again, his voice shaking and shattering under the emotion the words held.

He just wanted to go back. He knew it was impossible, but he could hope. He'd go back to being called an idiot, and being Arthur's disposable manservant in a heartbeat if only it meant being back by the young Pendragon's side. This thought was his last before his body relaxed into a silent slumber, tear tracks still clear along his cheeks and dampening the pillow beneath his head.

\---

Merlin sighed, and rested his head on his hands atop the steering wheel. While it was common for such behaviour to be shown in long lines of traffic, Merlin hadn't seen any other cars for hours. It wasn't so early now, and he'd expected to see at least a few more. The isolation had eventually gotten boring, and Merlin had pulled over. What better time that this to have breakfast? Since, at 11:03am, and after being on the road since 6am, he was getting hungry. He hadn't wanted to stop at all, hence the lateness of his meal, but the boredom had caught up with him.

Even after he had finished eating, he didn't start the car back up again, instead turning his gaze to the seat beside him. There were a few things he wouldn't throw away or sell when he moved, mainly because they allowed him to maintain hobbies. He needed something to do after all. The violin case sat behind him on the backseat, but he had kept his sketchpad close. It was his most prized possession, save for maybe the ring he had not-so-sneakily taken for Arthur before setting him out across that lake. He knew he shouldn't have, but looking back now, it couldn't have mattered, and he was glad he had kept hold of it all these years. He didn't wear it, at least not how you're supposed to, opting instead to keep it on a chain around his neck, where it sat under his neck-scarf, and was cleaned regularly. But the sketchpad... that was his. That had always been his, and he never put it anywhere potentially dangerous. But travelling... he just couldn't help it. He grazed his fingertips against the cover before picking it up with the utmost care, and opening it. As he flicked through, the eyes of all his loved ones stared back. His mother, Guinevere, Gaius, Freya. And he couldn't help himself, even Mordred and Morgana came up. But Mordred was a young boy in the drawings, wide innocent eyes, without a trace of malice or wish for murder in them. And Morgana was younger, wearing her old blue gowns, looking beautiful, and innocent, and happy, with her smile that Merlin admitted he had been in love with for a short period of time. With her dimples, and... God what had happened? How had such a pure heart turned dark? Such light disappeared? He knew Uther was to blame for a lot of it, but he himself had played a part. He had tried to stop what he had seen in the Crystal Caves and only made it come to pass. He had listened to Gaius against his better judgement and refused Morgana the support she so desperately needed at a time in her life where everything was only confusing, and her nights filled with nothing but terror. Of course it had been his overthinking that had kept Mordred alive too, and he had berated his only people for nothing. And then he had betrayed Mordred which led to the worst outcome. He'd been such an idiot, made so many mistakes. At times, even now, he still thought everything was his fault in one way or another. Others may have played a part, and he supposed destiny would always have a way of coming to pass, but maybe he could have prevented it from happening quite so soon if he'd just...

Goddamnit.

He turned his head not a second too late to stop the stray tear from hitting the paper, but turned back to the sketchpad a moment later, taking a shaky breath, and turning over, refusing to look any longer at the younger, innocent Morgana he wished he could have protected better.

But of course she wasn't in the sketchbook as often as some of the others... without a shadow of a doubt, who was the most common person in the pad, but Arthur Pendragon himself? Most of them were just him. Sat at his table like he always did, a concentrating frown upon his face, that only made him look more Kingly. Then there was him, decked out in all his armour, chainmail and all, hand on the hilt of excalibur, and a stern look flashed along his features. But Merlin's favourites... Merlin's favourites were those of Arthur sat less respectively than a king usually did, a huge grin on his face, with bright eyes sparkling right out of the page. Merlin had painted this one, along with a few of the others, with water colours, and he looked so real. And then, another favourite. He had just painted Arthur's eyes. And they jumped with so much life, Merlin could hardly believe he was really gone, after all this time.

He groaned, the noise almost catching in his throat, and he pressed his forehead against the paper, trying to keep back a fresh wave of tears. He couldn't stay there for much longer, not if he wanted to get home within the day. With careful hands and blurry eyes, Merlin placed the pad back beside him, his hand lingering over it before returning to the wheel. Blinking back tears, he set off again, and didn't stop until he made it back to where Camelot once was. Now, it was called Cornwall.

Once there, it wasn't difficult for him to collect the key to his already furnished flat. It was student accommodation after all - he was going through college yet again. His few bags were easy to carry up, and unpacking was always easy when you had magic on your side. Soon, the place looked about as homey as Merlin's places ever did, and while usually he would flop onto his bed and sleep, Merlin had somewhere to be. It was easy to find, although through some woods, Merlin knew them like the back of his hand. Even after all these years, these woods had never been touched. In fact, Merlin had been apart of the group who had petitioned and demanded that they be left alone. He often donated to keep it that way, and so far, it didn't seem like they'd go back on the deal. They had grow wilder, and denser, but Merlin could still navigate this place blindfolded, and while most would get lost, Merlin found his way to the lake easily, slowing his pace.

He knew it was pointless coming back here, but he couldn't help himself. This place- it was the closest thing to a grave that Arthur had, and Merlin was the only one who knew about it. Anybody else who ever did was gone, and Merlin wasn't about to forget the lake, as long as Arthur's memory remained in his head.

In which case... he would never not return to the lake.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just quickly like to point out that I am aware that the maths doesn't add up, and that technically, it hasn't been 'thousands' of years. It's more than likely only been around 600 years, and if we say that Merlin's 'resets' happen when he's around 80, that he's only had at least 7 resets altogether. But for the sake of it making sense within the fic, I'm going to continue saying thousands of years, and that he's likely lost track of how many resets, because I kind of need Merlin to have been back to Cornwall more than twice, and also the fact that 7 doesn't properly add up to the whole idea that he goes back there every three resets. And that's not mentioning the fact that to Merlin, even if it HADN'T been thousands of years, and the maths did add up, 7 lifetimes is still a very long time, especially when you're specifically waiting to see someone again, and know that you can't die and are stuck in this loop of living a life and growing old only for it to mean nothing alone, and continuously, it would definitely feel like thousands of years.  
> So I apologise, it's actually pretty disappointing to me that the maths doesn't work out but I guess that's the glory of fanfiction, that it isn't the end of the world that it's not perfect. Hope you can all look past that and enjoy the story anyway - and I sincerely hope you do ^.^

Merlin grumbled to himself, holding his hand down on his head, to stop his hat blowing away. He had been here for a couple of months now, and college had just started up. Of course... his name was still weird to people, and he hadn't been able to make it through a single lesson without being asked some sort of question about it. In music, his violin practise had been interrupted, in art, somebody had smudged him while nudging his arm to ask a question, and in photography, somebody had photo bombed his photo of a raven, making it fly away in panic. His go to reasoning had always been that his parents were huge nerds with old Legends, and they had bonded over the legend of Arthur. It was the most realistic sounding story he could come up with in this day and age. 

But he had tried to push that from his mind. After dropping his bag off at home, he had stormed back out, hoping a visit to the lake would calm him down. Honestly. Merlin wasn't so unusual. But no. No. He wasn't going to think about it. He was just going to concentrate on his brisk walk, trying not to look so angry as to earn himself some stares. Hoping to avoid more of these, he took a route away from people. Across a large field, that stretched for miles before dipping into the dense forest, which sure, wasn't as swarming as it had used to be but nobody ever went in there. Kids sometimes climbed trees in the outskirts, but parents were too cautious to less them wander too far in. Merlin wasn't sure even he would be willing if he hadn't spent more time in them than most. The only issue with the field being so large was that it was optimal for events. The event in question this particular time seemed to be a fair of some kind. Dotted around the edge were a few portable carnival rides, and the required candy floss and doughnut stands. But right in the centre were stalls that had more of the market place feel. In particular, reminding him of the market place in Camelot. Merlin could easily have walked around, he knew that, but he couldn't bring himself to avoid potential familiarity. Something that might remind him of his home, long faded with time. He wouldn't have regretted it at all, but the market was a lot more crowded than he had expected, and it appeared too much for his conflicted mind. Anxiety spiked and within minutes his only thought was to emerge out the other side without letting the environment spark a panicked display that would surely draw attention to him. His pace faltered when his rushed stumbling caused him to knock somebody, who'd added apparent rush lead them to stumble in front of him, falling flat on their back, and grunt from the back of their throat. 

It took Merlin a moment to realise what was reality, and what wasn't. He even tried shaking his head, and blinking rapidly a few times, before wondering simply if he'd been drugged. None of these things worked, or seemed realistic, which could only mean one thing. 

"Arthur...?" 

His voice was quiet, and the male on the ground didn't hear what he'd said, but seemingly heard that he'd said something, as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. He didn't seem the least bit bothered by Merlin's borderline inappropriate stare, as he seemed very much to be doing to same, as though he remembered Merlin. Of course, that was impossible, but it meant they were still for quite a few moments before either of them spoke. Merlin couldn't tell what was going through the mind of the other, but through his own jumbled thoughts, he barely had time to worry about this. Besides, did it matter? This had to be a dream right? Had he actually passed out while trying to escape the confines of the surrounding people? Maybe it was him who had stumbled and fallen and this was the vision his unconsciousness had provided him with. But something tugged at the rational parts of his brain, screaming at him that this was real, it had to be real. He had waited lifetimes for this, raising his hopes just for them to be shattered time and time again, and now Arthur was right in front of him, and he was refusing to believe it. Could he really be blamed for that?

"Can I help you?" the former King asked, and all air seemed to leave Merlin's lungs. 

He forced himself to keep his composure, as he held out his hand to help him up. Goddamnit, even his hand felt the same. 

"Yeah," he managed a smile, actually quite easily considering how queasy he felt, though he shouldn't have been surprised, "I'm Merlin." 

Arthur didn't even bat an eyelid at the name, like he recognised it. In his subconscious, maybe he did. 

"Hello, Merlin. I'm Arthur." 

Merlin resisted the urge to say 'I know' and went to help him up, but Arthur stopped. He looked at Merlin, watching him carefully, and keeping hold of his hand. 

"Do I know you?" 

Merlin sighed, exhaling a little laugh. He wanted to say 'I thought you'd never ask me that' and then perhaps go into a long rant about how they'd known each other thousands of years ago, and that Merlin had been his servant, while he'd been a supercilious, dollophead of a king, and how yes, yes, they'd known each other, but Arthur wouldn't remember, because he'd died. He'd died, and Merlin was so sorry that he hadn't been able to save him, but he'd held him while he died, and given him a funeral, and Gods above, he was so sorry. If he could take everything back and start again and not make the same mistakes he would, but that was beyond everyone's power, even his, and he was sorry because he'd put everyone through so much suffering. He had abandoned Arthur in the last stand and he was so sorry that he hadn't been quick enough. He was sorry that Guinevere had had to rule alone, mourning him while he sat guiltily unable to look her in the eyes for many years, despite the fact she knew he'd tried his best. He was sorry for the way he had overestimated his powers so many times and it had only led to more trouble. He was sorry that his life as Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot had been so short lived, and for a lot of it, so miserable. He was sorry he'd lied for most of that time with him, causing Arthur to hate him for the hours before he came to understand and forgive him. He was sorry for everything, and he wanted so badly to blurt out everything that he had been brewing over and bottling up for countless lifetimes.

But that might just have made him look insane, so he didn't say anything, once again going to help Arthur up, who complied this time, but still kept hold of Merlin's hand. Merlin wanted to throw his arms around him, but he couldn't really do that either. Instead he nodded his farewell, and pulled his hand away. He didn't want to leave, but he felt as though he was going to throw up and he was screaming at himself in his head, but still he fought against the pull backward; back towards Arthur. His legs were moving without giving his mind, and screaming desire the chance to properly catch up to what he was doing. Walking away from everything he'd ever wanted for endless years. Thankfully, Arthur still had his head. 

"No, really!" Arthur suddenly appeared beside him, walking with him, "Your eyes, I've seen you before." 

Merlin almost froze - he'd said that before. But he was kept in motion by the swelling of his heart within his chest. Even now... even now, Arthur recognised him by just his eyes. 

"Maybe you have. I wouldn't know where, maybe here. Maybe in another time. Who knows." 

"Like... reincarnation or something?" Arthur raised an eyebrow.

Merlin cursed internally, his vision going red briefly. Bad idea. Bad. Idea. Tears burnt at his eyes, and he realised just how badly he was already messing this up, but he couldn't take it back now. Was he really going to lose Arthur all over again, before he'd even processed the fact of finding him. Battling himself within his mind, and battling the tears and anxiety that were bubbling up inside him and preparing an explosion of immense proportion, he forced himself to calm just enough to continue conversation. This was the path he was on now. He just had to hope that this version of Arthur still believed in magic somehow. That he wouldn't be so sceptical of all Merlin had to say.

"Something like that." 

"So, like past lives and things?" he grinned, "What do you think you were? In a past life?"

"A servant." Merlin said without hesitation, "And then a baker. Then a tailor. Then I was a photographer. A musician. Bus driver. Teacher. And-"

"Wow." Arthur interrupted, "Are you a psychic or something? You can't really know things like that. Can you?" 

Merlin fought desperately to stop thinking so much. This was important. Overthinking would be the death of him if he carried on. Or at least the death of any chance he had with getting to know this man again. And God, how he wanted that chance.

"Not with everybody." he muttered.

He really had gotten himself into something now. But... Arthur was speaking as though he too put some belief in reincarnation. Maybe he had slivers of memories from Camelot? Maybe he couldn't deny something that rang inexplicable, yet strong truth within him. And Merlin of course knew for a fact it was true, so who was he to not continue playing this out. There had been things in the media for ages about people claiming to remember their past lives, or having memories and knowledge of things they couldn't know about. For all Arthur knew, that could be Merlin's excuse, only, he hadn't gone to the media with it. Too much knowledge would only be seen as made-up stories. That would be his tale. It could work... right?

"Can you read mine? Did I have any past lives?" 

Merlin pretended to think for a few moments, almost subconsciously continuing to walk. This was the point to decide. His quickly invented story could go so wrong so quickly, and if he went with it, he wouldn't be able to back out. He would have to continue for as long as he knew Arthur, and trust himself not to slip up.

But in the end, there was really no choice to it. This story appealed to Arthur, and Merlin longed for the gleam in his eyes to never fade; longed for him to always be happy. And if this was something that helped towards that if only in the tiniest, tiniest way, then Merlin was going to go for it, head first, and if it backfired... well then he could deal with that later.

"Just one." 

"Really?" he gaped, "What was I?" 

"Not sure you'll believe me if I told you." 

"We really wouldn't still be having this conversation if I didn't believe you thus far. Prove it to me later, okay? What was I?" 

"A king." 

"A-" Arthur looked as though he was about to argue, maybe ask him to be serious, but seemed to notice how Merlin wasn't smiling any wider than he was before, like he already was being, "Really?" 

"Really," Merlin nodded, "But... maybe don't go around telling people. I don't do this for a living, it's not often at all I can really know these things about other people." 

"Of course, of course," Arthur waved a hand dismissively, and Merlin tried not to groan at the fact that he really had just re-befriended the king of Camelot, with a half-baked story, made up in less than a minute. "What kind of King was I?" 

Merlin answered in a heartbeat, "the best." 

Arthur scoffed, muttering something like a doubt, but said nothing else about it. He seemed to only just notice where they were heading. They had left the fair well behind them, now walking down the bank towards the woods. If he was curious, he didn't say anything. Merlin almost rolled his eyes. Arthur had known him for barely ten minutes, and after telling him his past life, already trusted Merlin enough to follow him into the woods, oblivious enough to assume he wasn't some murderer. Of course, he wasn't, but Arthur wasn't to know that. Or maybe it was his eyes. Maybe Arthur felt like he knew him more than he actually did, and therefore trusted him with his life... again. 

The two strangers remained in silence as Merlin led them knowingly through the dense trees, making his way directly to the lake despite the need having died between him leaving his flat, and arriving here. Arthur had obviously never been here before. And it was a few moments before Arthur finally picked his jaw up off the ground and turn back to Merlin. 

"Sorry, I kind of followed you here," he laughed, "I didn't interrupt, did I?" 

"No." Merlin smiled wider, sitting down on the ground "Actually, your presence is perfect." 

"It is?" Arthur asked, sitting beside him. 

"Yes. I- I came because a friend of mine was put to rest here, and- and I haven't been here in a very, very long time. And I'm always alone when I do come and visit and..." he shrugged, turning his head to hide an oncoming sensation of tears, his voice quietening suddenly to barely a whisper, "I don't know, it's nice to not be alone for once."

"How long is a very, very long time?" he encouraged, probably already thinking along the right lines.

"You really believe me about my past lives? You don't think- you don't think I-?" 

Merlin cut off. If he was really going to pull this off, he needed to refrain from putting any sort of doubt in Arthur's head about whatever ability he was claiming to have that allowed him to know his past lives. Of course it was just memory, but that sounded too normal for the situation somehow. It was strange though. He had waited thousands and thousands of years for this moment, and now that it had arrived, he didn't know what to do with himself. He had spent decades planning the perfect things to say, or do, and now his mind was blank, and the very best he could do was latch onto a half-thought that appealed to the former king. He honestly could barely believe himself.

"You're strange Merlin." Arthur stated, but not in a way that struck Merlin as an insult. 

"Thank you?" he chuckled uncertainly. 

Arthur laughed, "It was a compliment. I believe you - I do. You just sounded so sure about yourself, like you didn't know any different. You lived those lives, you wouldn't be so confident otherwise. Looking forward to learning more about each one." 

"What makes you think you'll ever see me again?" 

Merlin's heart rose to his throat at his own words. Oh god, how he wanted to see him again. And again and again, every day of his life. Why would he say something like that? He was still so stupid.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You told me I was a king, and I didn't run away in fright that you were insane or something. In my books, that makes us acquaintances at the very least." 

Merlin mumbled, trying to hide his grin, and threatening tears of joy, "I think I could live with that." 

Arthur said nothing for a moment, and then suddenly, a phone was shoved under Merlin's nose, the screen blaring white in his eyes, a new contact under his name, awaiting a corresponding number. Merlin smiled softly, and took the device, typing in his number, and awaiting the text message the other male sent, saving the contact. 

"There, and that just about makes us friends." Arthur declared.

"You're very forward." Merlin raised his eyebrow, "Suits you. A very Kingly trait, like your name. I assume your surname is just as so?"

Arthur blushed, and Merlin almost laughed. 

"It's kind of weird, but I don't know if I'd say Kingly." he mumbled, "Arthur Pendragon." 

"Not Kingly? You're as delusional as I am. But come on, you're talking to a guy named Merlin, and you're fussing over Pendragon being weird?"

Arthur laughed softly, shaking his head lightly, "I guess I am. What's yours then. The Sorcerer?"

"Ah-" Merlin shrugged, "O'Connor." 

It had been a spur of the moment decision one day. The first time somebody ever asked him about his last name, he had panicked, and it had been the first name he had thought of. It had stuck, and he'd never even considered changing it. Merlin O'Connor. That had been his name for many years; many lives. And he was okay with that. It was definitely less obvious than Merlin the Sorcerer. Of course only Arthur would think of that.

"Suits you." Arthur turned his gaze to the water, and Merlin wished he could blurt out his thoughts. 

A thousand years... so long, and finally, finally, he could sit here on this bank, and Arthur was beside him, instead of under the water. And this time, there weren't any barriers of social class. They were equal in a modern society, and maybe, just maybe, a friendship was truly possible.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was wondering, did you guys want me to bring back other characters? Like Gwen and Morgana, maybe the Knights (but maybe not)? Because honestly I can make this work either way, but I don’t want to write them in if you don’t want me to, and I don’t want to leave them out if you wanna see them? I’m a writer, for the most part I aim to please and fanfic is expendable like that, you know?
> 
> And if you would like them to come back, if say I brought Morgana and Mordred back, would you want them to have their magic? My argument against it would be that they died and may have lost it in the sense that magic doesn't exist more, and Merlin only still has his because he hasn't died. But then my argument for it would be that they're still Morgana and Mordred, and maybe Merlin not being the only one with magic would help them bond. 
> 
> And (eek sorry I know this is long) would you potentially want them to have traces of their memories? Like Merlin triggers something and they remember bits and pieces (in Morgana's case probably through a dream) and causes tensions and/or confusion. Like maybe Morgana's magic comes through as it did in the series, starting only with her powers as a Seer, through her dreams, then accidental magic before finally being able to harness it.
> 
> I'm getting carried away. Would appreciate feedback on these thoughts, and I can work with any of them so, totally up to you guys.
> 
> Thank you for the support, now onto the actual chapter ^.^

Merlin stumbled out of the art block of his college, with the bag on his back weighing a ton, and his sketchpad refusing to cooperate. He was supposed to be meeting Arthur for lunch, but he was already late out, and frustrated with the fact that walking while trying to tuck everything between the sheets of his pad was difficult. And if this wasn't enough, it was about to rain, small specks of water already appearing in his dark hair. He managed to shove everything in as he rounded the corner, and his heart jumped to his throat.

It had been about a month since Merlin felt he could have classed Arthur as a friend, since a few not-so-accidental, yet rather awkward meetings had led to them both making good use of they fact they had each others numbers. Since then, they had quite quickly become pretty close. Yet Merlin still could barely believe he was real. His heart rose to 100 mile an hour each time the dollophead smiled - alive.

Meanwhile, Merlin was still his clumsy self, as it was proven when, only a few steps away from Arthur, he tripped, and the sketchpad flew from his hands. In the flurry of trying to stop it from hitting the ground, he knocked into Arthur, who barely managed to catch him with the black pad in his other hand. He burst out laughing, and Merlin simply blushed.

"Honestly Merlin," and Merlin's stomach flipped, "Falling for me again. You have a habit, seriously."

"Shut up, you clotpole," He forced a small laugh, righting himself, and hoping the intense blush could be drawn up to the cold.

"Clotpole huh? You still haven't told me where that comes from."

"And I don't suppose I will." Merlin snickered.

"Dick," Arthur murmured, but the smile on his face made it impossible for Merlin to be offended.

In fact, in terms of insults, he felt like, in some special way, it was becoming a common insult, like 'idiot' had once been. And he had always secretly loved Arthur's constant insults, so what would be any different now? After all, some things had to stay the same, or Merlin would really think he was dreaming, or had at least gone insane. He didn't think it was possible for someone to change so much, even over the length of time they had been apart? Especially Arthur. Merlin suppressed a shudder, unsure of what he thought he would do if Arthur had turned out to be different to how Merlin had always known him.

The two walked with comfortable small talk between them. How were Merlin's classes going? Were they stressful yet? How was Arthur's job going? Was he bored out of his mind yet? Arthur found Merlin's comebacks humorous, and he still wasn't used to that - someone being to there to hear, let alone appreciate his snarky comments to pretty much everything.

Soon enough, they arrived at the small café they had adopted as their regular place. It was always quiet, not well known, and did some amazing food. Their usual place was tucked away at their table in the corner, with their respective lunches, talking in slightly hushed voices as though anybody could be listening. And really, it wasn't wrong. Anybody could be listening, and they preferred it in their own little world thank you very much. Even if there own little world was so often Merlin swatting Arthur's hand as he stole one of his fries, snickering as he did so.

"You'd have thought, if you liked them so much, you'd get your own."

"No, they're much nicer when I take them from you."

Merlin rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips. He never could around Arthur, and it honestly made him realise just how long it had been since he'd smiled properly and so freely. Of course he had smiled - he hadn't been in mourning for all the years he'd been alone, but it hadn't been such little, stupid remarks that had made him smile so widely. That was purely to do with Arthur, and it left him in a state of dazed gratitude once again, that finally he had him back. With a roll of his eyes he pushed the bowl slightly forward, pretending not to notice Arthur's victorious snicker as he stole another fry. But it only lasted a few seconds, before Merlin too was snickering, eyes trained on the thin paper wrapping under the chips in he bowl, red and white, soaking the grease from the food.

"Honestly, you're a child."

"You bet I am. Now-"

"Here we go," Merlin rolled his eyes again.

He had expected this of course. The more Arthur had to got to know him, the more comfortable he had felt asking Merlin about whatever it was that allowed him to know that he had lead so many lives. And if he spoke honestly, Merlin would have to say that he enjoyed talking about it. To have lead so many but be unable to talk about them after he reset was frankly exhausting. Sometimes it didn't even seem like he had done those things, since it would be totally possible for him to think them up. It was only the crushing loneliness whenever he was alone that had reminded him that it was all true. And on top of that, Arthur was eager to know every single detail Merlin remembered, which only made it even better to recall. Recently, he had been asking a lot of questions, but Merlin had to give it to him that part of that was probably because their answers regarding current work and school were almost always the same. Seeing each every day really did make small talk kind of pointless. Merlin could pretend it annoyed him til the end of the world, but the truth would always be that he enjoyed talking to Arthur, and having Arthur be so interested in everything he had done in his absence filled a void in his chest that had become so familiar he'd almost forgot it was there. Of course, Merlin had considered the possibility of telling Arthur the truth at some point, and had come to the conclusion that eventually, he might have to. He couldn't play this story forever. He would, for as long as he could, but once Arthur trusted him, and knew all of him properly, and fully, maybe he would be able to spill everything without the fear of rejection. Honestly, he thought the magic part was going to be the most difficult, just like last time. But rather than the consequence being the noose or the pyre, he only had to worry about scaring Arthur off forever. Brilliant, right? He figured he'd rather the stake to losing Arthur again. And that was too serious a thought to linger on for too long. He didn't have to worry right now anyway. The truth would come out eventually, but that time was not for a long while yet. For now, he could focus on Arthur - the real thing, not a memory.

"I'd apologise but..."

"Where were we?"

"I want to know more about when you were a photographer. What sort of photos did you take?"

"All sorts. I mean, I did the generic sorts of things you would expect. Wildlife. Weddings. Old buildings."

"What sort of wildlife?"

Merlin thought for a moment, "Foxes. I had an obsession with foxes. And wolves."

"Any particular reason?"

"They liked me..." he said sheepishly, as though it was something to be guilty about.

"That's so cute," Arthur cooed, then blushed bright red, "I mean... just that you were so in touch with- like, so you could- the- ugh."

Merlin burst into a fit of laughter, and it was only made worse when Arthur tried to glare at him and only managed an exasperated look. Arthur just gave in and pouted, resting his chin on his hand, and his elbow on the table, and waited out the continuous snickers from the male across the table. He eventually calmed, but not before a last couple outbursts when he looked at how childish Arthur looked with the pout on his face.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he gave a last chuckle, "It was pretty cute, how they could act. It made for some great photos."

Arthur snapped out of his façade immediately.

"What were you favourite types of photos to take?"

Merlin shrugged, "The sky."

"The sky?"

"Yeah. You know like, sunrises, sunsets, stars. Clouds sometimes. And like the weather. Storms and..." he trailed off.

Arthur might have said something, but Merlin didn't hear anything, and his vision blurred with the temporary glassiness of his eyes. Why was he doing this? A knot tightened in his chest, disabling his ability to breathe properly. He wasn't sure he knew what was happening, and for a moment wasn't actually aware of where he was. Was he in the café, or back in the days where he'd go to arguable extremes for a photo op? Blurred images sped past behind his eyes, and he couldn't get rid of them. He had seen them before of course, quite frequently. It happened often as an almost reminder of everything he'd left behind. It was almost like what the crystals in the Crystal Cave had always shown him, only the images burns behind his eyes, and they showed him only the past. While physically he was with Arthur, in his mind he was sat in a field in Northern Ireland.

The wind nipped at any exposed flesh it could get to, and the flask of coffee couldn't seem to give any warmth to his numb fingers. He had brought a book with him, but he would barely have been able to hold it. Besides, it had been stupid of him; the rain up here was relentless, and the wind just as bad. He had been unable to put up his flimsy rain cover for fear of it blowing away. He could only hope the shield he had cast to protect his camera from the onslaught of rain wouldn't affect his shot too much. The lightning had been so unbelievably clear cut, and passing up the photo op seemed like a downright crime. He sat there all night, well into the early hours of the morning, taking every shot he could until the storm had passed. Then with stiff muscles, walked home and collapsed, soaked, onto his bed. The mild hypothermia had him bedridden for a few days, but in his mind it had been worth it. The camera had picked up his shield but only slightly and had in fact only enhanced the photos' aesthetic brownie points. They had been highly appreciated, and they had been his pride for many years.

Merlin snapped back with a sharp inhale of breath, to find a hand enclosed over his own.

"Storms and..." he looked up at Arthur, who looked incredibly concerned, but nobody else in the café was looking at them so he hoped that meant good news, "Did I say something?"

"You... You completely dazed out. Are you okay?"

Merlin shook his head lightly, trying to focus, "I'm fine. Photos... I was saying something about photos."

"How you photographed the sky, and different weather."

"Yes." he nodded, "Yeah. Any other questions?" he saw Arthur open his mouth, his concerned expression remaining, and he changed his statement, "Any more questions about photography? I- I need a- I need minute."

Arthur looked put out for a minute, like he wanted to argue. But he apparently seemed to sense Merlin's still-in-effect disconnection from his reality, and dropped it, removing his hand from where it still sat over his. Merlin immediately noticed the absence of warmth.

"Do you still take photos?"

Merlin nodded, "I'm taking it at college, along with art and music. Can never seem to shake the need to photograph things about me."

"Quite artsy..." Arthur tilted his head, "You are strange Merlin."

Merlin just smiled softly, dropping his gaze to the table.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

He was - truly he was, the confusion never lasted long. But there was something he couldn't quite shake. A feeling that maybe that was a clearer memory than some of the other blanks he had had in the past. Maybe it was his imagination, or the fact that he had been going into detail with Arthur, but something didn't quite sit right. Still, no reason to ever bother Arthur with it. Especially when he couldn't yet tell him everything.

"Yeah I'm fine. That just... happens sometimes, y'know. I'm okay. Fry?"

Merlin pushed the almost empty bowl towards the former king, but Arthur did not seem impressed with his attempt to change the subject.

"You shouldn't go back to college this afternoon. I think you should go home. Maybe get some sleep, or..."

Merlin gave a half chuckle, "I'm fine Arthur. It just... I'm fine."

Arthur rolled his eyes, and stood, and out of habit Merlin just copied him, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. They thanked the waitress who served them with a fond wave and left, but Arthur didn't say anything more for a moment. Merlin chanced a glance towards him. He looked deep in thought but didn't look so concerned anymore, though flashes of it still remained in his eyes. He seemed to be contemplating something, but then looked to him quite suddenly, smiling at Merlin softly.

"I believe you. That you're fine, I mean. I'd still feel better if you went home though. Normal or not... you seriously blanked."

Merlin rolled his eyes, "Concern doesn't suit you, honestly. You much better suit stealing my lunch."

"Uh huh..." Arthur laughed curiously, "I'll keep that in mind. How about for now you go home, and I'll call you later to make sure you did and that you're okay."

"Or I could go back to college, because I'm fine. But you can still call me and check later?"

Nothing wrong with being hopeful after all.

Arthur stopped, and turned to face him. He had that look on his face, that always used to appear when he was about to insult Merlin in a sarcastic manner. Or feign niceties with venom-lacking unkindness. He just waited, trying not to smirk.

"Okay, fine. You go back to college, but you go home right after. And I'll call you later to make sure you're home. But, I get to berate you for being one of those people who doesn't care that something normal to them is actually seriously worrying to other people, and unaware of the fact that I may just worry about this all day. Whether it's genuine or just to annoy you, I haven't decided yet. Deal?"

Merlin pretended to think it over, scrunching his nose in a way that made the blonde roll his eyes.

"Okay, deal. But if you start to worry too much, just remember that waffles and ice cream are the cure for pretty much anything, and that you should definitely bring some over to my place."

"You cheeky little-"

"Gotta go; don't wanna be late; see you later."

And with a quick purposefully cringey display of fingerguns, he shot off across the road, the grin on his face refusing to fade.


End file.
